This post is a work of heart. And, this was NOT a post I planned to write for this month. Yet there are times when emotions run high, and words simply pour out, filling a blank page, and I share in the hope that the content might connect with some. And you, my readers, always have a choice to continue reading or leave me at this point.
To set the background, I’m passionate about fresh organic food, especially the one that’s grown with love. So each year around this time, my friends graciously share lemons from their backyards. This is also the time when I make lemon pickle. I’d call my mom’s sister, Maasi, (Ma- see), to ask her the pickle recipe. And every time, she lovingly shared tips and tricks to make the most delicious lemon pickle. This was like a ritual I’ve been following for the last few years.
This year too I have lemons.
But not my aunt.
Until my beloved aunt passed away a few months back, she used to be a phone call away. Very accessible. Always there for me and my family.
Now she’s a fond memory.
Memories of her are imprinted like a beautiful fossil on my mind. Very accessible. And always there for me and my family.
Besides my tête-à-tête with my Maasi about the lemon pickle, I have some more lemon memories indexed inside. Way back in time, during my childhood days in India, every weekend, my dad used to take the whole family for an outing. While my siblings and I relished ice-creams, my parents slurped a lemony carbonated drink, Limca, from a small street-side vendor. The vendor used to top the drink with an extra squeeze of lemon and top it with spicy masala. I would rejoice in tiny sips of Limca with my eyes closed, and after gazillion years, I can still feel the tangy bubbles on my lips and how the drink felt inside my mouth.
My lemon memories don’t just stop with Limca, this season of lemons transports me to the time when I once swallowed a lemon seed. Like any other older siblings, my sisters did not miss this opportunity. “A LEMON TREE WILL NOW GROW INSIDE OF YOU,” they had said. Coming from my sisters, I believed the prophecy. For the next few days, I hogged up the mirror to take a good look inside my mouth and searched for any traces of the green growing inside of me. Invisible to the ordinary eye, the incident planted a seed of lemon, and its memories are now ready for harvest. Very accessible. And always there for my family and me.
From the bygone times to not that long ago, during Halloween, my kids gave me lemon-flavored candy to taste. As I unwrapped that tiny ball and swirled it inside my mouth, the extreme sourness kicked in, and I kicked the candy out. I never tasted anything in my life sourer than lemons, but that candy was the king of all sourness.
Now my kids are creating their lemon memories as they make their version of lemonade (or sugarade is what I like to call it) —juicing the yellow balls, adding heap-full of sugar in water with a tiny drop of lemon.
When I’m in my nostalgic mood, narrating these memories makes me relive the beautiful moments, perhaps because it reminds me who I am today is because of the memories I’ve lived in my past. Aren’t we all?
I’m amazed at the incredible vivid memories this little food has created. And many of my memories are strongly tied to the experiences of food. Smell, taste, texture, or the sight of certain food transports me back in time, unleashing a cornucopia of memories. And it’s not just the food, even the setting and company is a big trigger in unleashing the memories of the past.
The following article is an interesting read on food memories, if you’d like to know more about it: https://www.huffpost.com/entry/power-of-food-memories_n_5908b1d7e4b02655f8413610
For me, food is an experience to savor. The same reason our house rule for dinner is to eat together as a family. And on the dinner table, STRICTLY NO SCREENS ALLOWED. And in my kitchen I just don’t cook food, I strive to make experiences that turn into memories. Very accessible. Always there for me and my family.
It’s the lemon harvest season in Arizona, and here I am, harvesting some lemon memories. Do you have some food memories to savor?